


Ten Years Is a Long Time

by dedkake



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Angry Sex, Dubious Consent, Feelings, M/M, Mile High Club, Missing Scene, Spoilers, Starting Over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 20:20:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1701254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedkake/pseuds/dedkake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles and Erik try to pick things up where they left off only to find that they are very different men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Years Is a Long Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt on the kinkmeme](http://futurepast-kink.dreamwidth.org/2013/07/22/round1.html?thread=21049#cmt21049). I really wanted to write some Charles/Logan for this fandom, but apparently I had to get out my Charles/Erik plane feels first :D
> 
> Dubious consent tag to be safe! They start off consensually.

i

The couch on Charles’ plane is much more comfortable than Erik’s cot in prison, but he can’t make himself relax. Even with his eyes closed, he can feel Charles’ gaze on him, can feel Charles turning his king over and over in his fingers, can even feel, if he focuses hard enough, the blood pumping in Charles’ veins.

Erik thinks of snapping at Charles, telling him that sleep had been his idea so he should get to it and stop staring at Erik, but the haunted look in Charles’ eyes as he ceded their game of chess lingers in Erik’s mind. He tries not to think about Charles’ quiet confession, the catch in his voice on the word _sleep_. It’s been a long time since Erik’s days with Charles, but he’s certain he’d remember if Charles had been losing sleep. Or maybe he’s only certain that he _should_ have noticed.

Instead of focusing on Charles—on everything it means to be back with Charles—Erik follows Hanks’ hands on the plane’s controls and the steady motion of Logan’s belt buckle, up and down, as he sleeps. The distraction works, lulling Erik’s mind to restfulness, if not real sleep, and he doesn’t notice Charles moving until there are knees sliding into place around his hips.

“What—” Erik startles, jerking to alertness. Charles’ hands are firm and warm on Erik’s chest, holding him in place and when Erik catches Charles’ gaze, he can barely breathe.

Charles’ pupils are wide and dark in the dim lighting of the plane, but Erik can still see the wetness there, the only indication Charles gives that he’s on the edge of tears. His eyebrows are drawn tight in a glare and his jaw is clenched as he sneers down at Erik.

“It’s been ten years,” Charles whispers, his voice uncharacteristically hard. “I didn’t think you’d hold yourself back from taking what you want.”

Searching Charles’ gaze, Erik asks, “And how would you know I want it?”

It’s a stupid question, almost childish. Erik has always wanted Charles—it’s never been a secret, not between them and not to anyone else who knows them, either. Erik can’t help asking, though, trying to dig at Charles however he can.

Charles rolls his eyes and leans closer, his nose brushing Erik’s as he says, “You’ve never been shy about using my body for yourself before.”

The words sting, weighing heavily on Erik’s heart. He’s had ten years to imagine how his first confrontation with Charles would go. Very few of the scenarios he’s imagined have been free of pain and anger, growing fewer still as the years dragged on with no sign of Charles. But now that he’s here, he doesn’t know what to do or how to respond.

Despite his uncertainty, the words slide off his tongue without thought. “I decided long ago that you would get to make the first move.”

“This is not about your apology,” Charles snarls. His breath is warm and smells of alcohol and Erik tries not to let the sensation drag him back into memory.

Digging his fingers into Charles’ thighs, Erik asks, “Then what is it about?”

And Charles is kissing him. It’s nothing like the first time—or the last. His kiss is hardened and fast and the shaking of his breath is not so much of desire but emotion too strong to name. Erik doesn’t mind, melts under it anyway because he needs it. He’s wanted this since he left—before, even. He tips his head back under Charles and moans softly, running his hands up Charles’ back to his too-long hair, enjoying the feel of just being with someone again.

When Charles pulls back, a glare still pulling his brows together, Erik says, “Ten years is a long time.”

“I know,” Charles says, and Erik has barely a second to contemplate the half-smile on Charles’ lips before Charles is kissing him again.

It’s slower this time, almost tender. Charles’ fingers curl in the material of Erik’s shirt, kneading, before he repositions his arms for better leverage to lower himself, rolling his hips down to meet Erik’s.

Erik moans at the press of Charles’ cock to his thigh, hot and hard and ready. He lets one foot fall to the floor so he can spread his legs better on the narrow couch, tipping his head back so Charles can trail kisses down his throat. The burn of Charles’ beard against his skin sends a shiver down his spine. His senses are buzzing contentedly, from the ache in his bruised cheek to the twinged stretch of his knee under Charles.

He wants to tell Charles he missed him, that he’s been thinking of him and what they lost that day on the beach for eleven years, but he’s afraid of ruining the moment. Charles’ new temper is something he’s not used to, can’t predict, and he doesn’t want to fight about everything—he doesn’t—but there is something else different as well, something Erik can’t put his finger on.

They are caught up in sensation, conversation long forgotten to the steady rhythm of Charles’ hips and Erik’s fingers along Charles’ scalp. It is a surprise to them both when Charles slides his hands into Erik’s corduroys and finds his cock still soft. Charles’s hips stop, but his hand continues, pulling gently at Erik’s cock just the way Erik likes.

At first Erik feels a deep rush of shame. It’s been ten years since he’s had sex, and the handful of times he’s managed to masturbate since then have been tainted with the eyes of guards and cameras and lights that never turn off. Maybe he’s broken now—maybe he’ll never be able to have this again.

Charles laughs against his ear, the sound weak and desperate. “Are you that out of practice?” he asks and it stings until Erik realizes what it means—Charles has no idea that Erik is uncomfortable. He has no idea what Erik is feeling or thinking, he doesn’t see the edge of panic in Erik’s mind.

This isn’t the Charles Xavier Erik knows and it certainly isn’t the Charles Xavier that Erik craves. This is a man past recognition, locked up tightly in his own mind. As much as Erik wants Charles, he does not want this.

“I thought you’d like this,” Charles says after a moment. His voice sounds broken and his lips are wet on Erik’s collarbone. His fingers are still warm on Erik’s dick, but Erik doesn’t respond. He can’t. His body’s reactions remain out of his control.

Charles lets out a sound that is more sob than moan, pushing his forehead into Erik’s chest. It does nothing—Erik still feels cold and hollow. He can’t even bring himself to feel bad that he’s made Charles feel this way. It’s not his fault that Charles is drugging himself beyond recognition—at least not entirely.

“I don’t even know who you are anymore, Charles,” Erik says, his voice sounding distant to his own ears.

Charles goes still above him and Erik doesn’t hesitate to pull away, to roll out from under Charles and onto his feet. Charles doesn’t move more than he needs to cover his eyes with his hand, his shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly with emotion. Erik still can’t feel anything, so he says nothing as he turns his back on Charles and disappears into the bathroom.

When he steps back into the cabin, Charles has turned over and drawn a blanket over himself, his back to the rest of the plane. He appears to be asleep, but Erik can feel his heart racing still, not the slow, steady rhythm of a sleeping body. He ignores him and sits in an empty chair, dropping his head back to stare at the ceiling.

He’s overestimated Charles, he realizes slowly—put him on a pedestal that he hasn’t lived up to. Closing his eyes, Erik adds Charles to the long list of mutants he’s failed.

ii

Erik’s been in the mansion for over a week before he builds up the courage to go to Charles’ room at night. It’s dark, the curtains drawn against the late summer sunset, but Erik still knows his way around the room, even after so many years. What is new this time is the smell, smoke and sweat and dust instead of firewood and books. It’s startling, and Erik remembers the man who’d punched him in the Pentagon.

“It’s the only room I haven’t gotten around to cleaning, yet,” a voice says from the direction of the bed.

The wheelchair is there, right next to the bed, and Erik probably should have noticed it first, should’ve been looking for it if he was looking for Charles, but he’s still not used to it.

“I’m not going to have sex with you, Erik,” Charles says again, and this time his voice is strained and quiet.

Erik blinks. That, of course, is one of his goals, but not the only reason he’s come to see Charles tonight, and the outright refusal is uncharacteristic and confusing. Erik stops his trek across the messy room and peers through the darkness until he thinks he can see Charles’ outline on the bed.

Charles sighs loudly and says, “I know it’s what you want this time, or at least what you think you want, but I can’t. I can’t go through that again.”

Swallowing against his frustration, Erik says, “You can’t go through _what_ exactly?”

“You,” Charles says, his voice catching. He starts again. “I know I can’t change the fact that you’ll walk away again and I’m fine with that, but I can’t be rejected again, and I certainly can’t handle a pity fuck like this.”

Erik flicks the lights on with a thought, glaring across the room when he can finally see. Charles is propped up against his pillows, eyes wary as he follows Erik’s every move. Charles is cleaner now than he was after breaking Erik out of prison. His beard is neater and his hair looks like it’s freshly washed, but the dark circles under his eyes are still prominent against his pale skin.

“I’ve never—” Erik says, striding slowly across the room. “It’s not pity that brings me to you, old friend.” Charles’ fingers tighten on the bedspread as Erik approaches and Erik tries not to think about how desperately he wants to feel those fingers on his skin.

Licking his lips, Charles says, “Don’t play me for a fool. I might’ve had a few drinks on that plane, Erik, but I remember every detail from that night clearly. You couldn’t bear to be with me, not even when you tried.”

Erik frowns, thinking back to their last sexual encounter, the empty feeling in his gut flaring back up again. “I wanted you that night as much as I do now,” Erik says, stung by Charles’ accusation. “And this time you should be able to see it.”

Charles’ eyes widen a fraction as he stares up at Erik over his bed. “So it’s not pity,” Charles says, his voice still hard. “It’s simply that you can’t stand to be with someone so human. I am not my telepathy. I am more than that.”

“But your telepathy is part of you,” Erik says, something he should’ve said on that plane. Maybe things would have gone smoother after that. “And I love all of you.”

There’s silence in the room as Charles stares up at him, but the confusion on his brow falls into a glare. “If you feel that way, then why did you tell me to stay out of your head? Why do you use my abilities as a weapon against me when you’re feeling threatened?”

It’s almost as bad as the punch to the face. Erik tenses, his breath coming faster, ready for a fight. “That’s not—”

Charles speaks over him, pushing himself up off the pillows. “And what makes you think this time would be any different for you? You couldn’t do it when I didn’t have my telepathy, but now I won’t have my legs, I probably won’t even have my cock.”

Silence falls between them as Charles collects himself. There are tears gathering in his eyes and his breathing is ragged. Erik doesn’t dare say a word.

“I am still a broken man, Erik,” Charles says softly, falling back to the bed. “I’ll never be who I was before Cuba.”

Erik doesn’t know what to say. He wants to yell and fight back, to push Charles down into the mattress and show him how he feels, that none of that matters to him, but he can’t. It wouldn’t be fair. Charles has had just as many years to think about this—about them—as he has, and Erik wants to respect his decisions.

“So, no,” Charles continues. “I’m not having sex with you. Not tonight.”

His fingernails biting into the skin of his palms, Erik nods. “If that’s what you want,,” he says curtly, turning on his heel to leave. He can’t be in this room anymore—he doesn’t know how much longer he can be in this house. He wants Charles with all of his being and he’s certain that the longer he stays, the worse it will feel to watch Charles from afar.

“Erik,” Charles calls when Erik’s hand is on the doorknob.

Irrational anger sparks up in Erik’s mind, the hairs on his arms standing on end as he turns to glare at Charles. “What?” he asks, his voice sharp.

Charles looks uncertain, worried. “I said I wasn’t going to have sex,” he says slowly, turning the words over as he speaks, “but I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to just—sleep.”

Erik stares at him, unsure of what Charles wants now.

“I’d like it, even,” Charles adds hastily. He turns down the blankets beside him, where Erik spent so much time all those years ago.

Erik goes to him before he can think, kicks off his shoes and slides into bed. His chest feels oddly light as he pulls the blankets over him and flicks the lights off once more. He wants to roll over, to wrap his arms around Charles and never let go, but he stays where he is, on his own side of the bed, staring out around the dark room.

After a moment of silence, Charles speaks, his voice close and deep. “Back on the plane you said you didn’t know me anymore,” he says, but continues before Erik can explain. “You were right. You don’t know me. And I don’t know you—not anymore. But I’d like to. We could start over, from the beginning—right now.”

Trying to keep his breathing even and steady, Erik considers the proposition. He’s always wanted Charles, whatever he’s willing to give and more, but there’s so much else between them now, so much muck to wade through. Maybe looking at this as a new start is the best they can do. Erik’s never been good at letting go of the past, but for Charles, maybe he can try.

“I’d like that,” he says. His voice is thick and sounds foreign to his own ears.

When he turns to look, he can see Charles smiling up at the ceiling.

iii

Erik wakes in the morning to find himself wrapped around Charles, his nose buried in his neck, Charles’ scruff tickling his forehead. He breathes in the scent of Charles’ soap and cologne and musk, feeling truly calm and centered for the first time in over a decade.

There’s a warm brush through his mind that Erik distantly recognizes as the fingers of Charles’ telepathy. _Good morning_ , Charles says, wrapping an arm around Erik’s shoulders more tightly.

“Good morning,” Erik responds, settling in for a few minutes more sleep.


End file.
